


Your Heart is a Blank Canvas (and so is your body)

by curiumKingyo



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: AU, Body Modification, M/M, Multiple Pairings, Piercings, Slow Build, Tattoo Artists AU, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-17
Updated: 2014-01-31
Packaged: 2018-01-08 18:24:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1135950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curiumKingyo/pseuds/curiumKingyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermann is a very talented tattoo artist who has no tattoos of his own. He wants to mark his skin with something special - made by someone special.<br/>Maybe at the Pacific Ink Con he finds it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The blank canvas

"Are you sure they will accept you there?" Hercules asked with a playful tone, flipping through Hermann's portfolio.

"Oh, please! Don't start it again, Hansen." Hermann rolled his eyes. "Of course they will. With a portfolio like this, of course yes!"

Truth be said, Hermann's portfolio was impressive indeed. The distinctive lack of tattoos on his skinny body concealed the fact that he was actually a very talented artist. Hercules kept looking at the chosen pictures: some astonishing realisting pieces, including the english bulldogue tattooed on Hercules' own calf; some mechanic limbs and beautifully intrincate clockworks. But the masterpieces certainly were the geometric patterns and fractals. It still amazed Hercules how Hermann could draw such sinuous lines using maths and equations on his head...

"Sorry, I won't bring this back again." Hercules put his hands up in defeat. "But you know they will torment you, right?"

"I don'tmind being tormented." The younger man replied firmly, taking his portfolio from Hercules' hands and putting it in his bag. "I'll show them my talent and capacity; there is no mockery that can compete with that!"

Hercules smiled at him, still so young and full of himself. It is true that he was talented but people in their line of work literally lived off their images. Hermann looked like a substitute teacher or bookstore clerk; people at Pacific Ink Con would eat him alive before paying any attention to his work. But Hermann was also very stubborn and if he said he'd do it, then he would do it.

Hermann looked up at him and gave a small smile. "With the prize of the contest we can finally make the renovations this place needs. This shop is falling to pieces!" It was true that their shop was old and getting too small for them - not to mention the infiltration stains and cracks in the ceiling; but Hermann was overdoing it by saying it was falling to pieces.

"It would be much appreciated!" Hercules said nonetheless. "So... I won't be seeing you until next week?"

"That's right. Tomorrow morning I'll be at the Pacific Hall and will be the first one to enter the contest." Hermann finished puting his things on his bag and closed it before looking back at Hercules. The owner of the Striker Eureka Studio smiled at him.

"Good luck there, Gottlieb." He said as Hermann walked past him on his way out of the shop. "Make me proud!"

"I will!"

Hermann walked the few blocks between Striker and his apartment in a pensive silence. Hercules was right, people at Pacific Ink would mock and belittle him just because he had no tattoos. He'd suffered this kind of bully before. But everytime someone jeered at him, he was fast to show all he could do and it always ended with begrudged apologies. Once, it ended up with an invitation to work with Hercules and his son Chuck.

At home he pluged his iPod to the dock and chose his Trans-Siberian Orchestra playlist. As the powerful chords of Wish Lizst began to echo through the space he sat on the battered couch and closed his eyes. The music cleared his mind and he began to think of what he would find at Pacific Ink. Ever since he began working with tattoos he decided he wanted to attend to it. Of course! It was the most important tattoo and body art event in the US. He had taken some flyers and cards form Striker Eureka to give away and had his portfolio and sketchbook neatly organized and tucked in his bag.

He was as confident as he would get. Just a good night of sleep and he would wake up ready to go there and show some pretentious asses that he could be a great artist even if he didn't fit their appearance standards. He sighed and opened his eyes. It was still 8pm, way too early to go to bed. When the music finished and Mephistopheles began to play, he stretched in the couch and stood up, going to the kitchen to make something to eat. He ended up eating noodles and drinking some warm coke he forgot to put in the fridge.

After eating he cleaned up, took a bath and went to bed. There he stayed awake for a long time, looking at the starless night, taking occasional glances at his own featureless arms. In his mind he began to put the stars back on the sky - he knew the precise location of a number of them, but now that the sky presented itself as a blank canvas, he arranged the stars the way he pleased. As he mentally added shine and color to the sky, he traced patterns on his bare arm until he fell asleep.

He dreamed of stars and lizards and, for the first time in his life, woke up late.


	2. The colorful lizard

Newt was almost done packing when his roomate showed up at his door. His hands resting on his hips in the same pose a mother would do when dealing with a nasty child.

"Are you sure you want to waste a whole week in that lame tattoo convention?"

Newt frowned and slowly turned to face him.

"First thing: it is not lame. It is Pacific Ink! The greatest and most badass convention ever, ok? Also, yes I want to _spend_ a whole week there. There will be lots of cool stuff, artists, new techniques and materials, performers, shows... Even Cherno Alpha will play there!"

The other man frowned, clearly unimpressed. "Well, have fun being a tattoo freak..." He then left with a shrug of his shoulders.

Newt stared at the empty threshold and then at his heavily tattooed arms. He should be used to it by now, being dismissed and tagged as a freak because of them. Actually he lost count of how many jobs he lost because of them. Everyone see his curriculum and is so impressed and pleased but it takes only one glance at the bright tattos on his arms that suddenly the position _has been just occupied_.

He knew he was more than that, but it was infuriating and so, so very frustrating...

Suddenly filled with bitter purpose he closed his bag and flung it over his shoulder. He checked his pockets to see if his wallet and cell phone were there and locked his room's door before leaving. He had a month until the begining of the semester at college so he was trully excited to spend a whole week in San Francisco, away from his nosey roomates, stupid colleagues and judgemental teachers. Pacific Ink was just the cherry on the top of the sunday.

For the first time ever, he arrived early at the airport. Stuffing his earbuds deeply into his ears and turning his mp3 player in the loudest volume possible, he sat there waiting. People who passed by kept staring at him, very few of them with curiosity and appreciation for the art etched onto his skin. As usual, most people threw judgemental stares at him, some of them even pulling their children further away.

He sighed, studying the images he carried all over his arms. He wanted tattoos ever since he was a kid, the idea of doing something so permanent and beautiful to his body pleased him in unimaginable ways. He got his first tattoo when he left his father's house to go to college. The first one was a wave around his wrist. Rich shades of blue mixing and overlapping, fading into the pale color of his own skin. When people asked the meaning of that, he would simply say "it is the begining of everything." He never understood why people freaked out when he got the second part done - he said the waves were the begining, didn't he?

The second part was just a small addition to the first; in the faded wave he got small colorful cells and tiny bacteria. The specks of purple, red and pink swirling as if rocked by the tide. Shortly after he added bigger, more complex but still primitive, life forms; stromatolites and others. And on and on, each new session he added new life forms to his arm until he got small reptiles crawling on his shoulder. He liked reptiles the most and was tempted to cover the rest of his body with them, but he needed to finish his ambitious plan.

He started the second sleeve after the fisrt one reached the soulder blade. Soon his other arm had the same wave around the wrist, except that this one featured cyanobacteria and algae. They turned into fern and small plants, bigger and more complex at each new patch of skin hidden by color. Until the branches of a full grown tree, with blossoms and fruit, were delicately falling over his back.

Up to that point the full sleeves were all he had, but the _plan_ included his back. A full back tattoo. It would be the pièce de resistance. A dense forest hiding birds and mammals, a small body of water with fish and perhaps some coral, and finally, right over the base of his spine, a man. He had the idea, but not the design yet. He needed to find the right artist...

The screen in front of him changed and showed it was time to board. He got his things and slowly made his way to the boarding gate. In the short plane trip, he sat by the window.

It felt strangely lonely to be there among the clouds and stare at the open sky completely devoided of stars.


	3. The sleepless heart of Pacific Ink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here, have some Tendo/Yancy because I think there is not enough of them around~

Tendo Choi loved his work. What was not to love about it? Few years ago he owned a small tattoo parlor, but he got the right contacts and did the right choices and now he is host of a reality TV show featuring some of the most promissing tattoo artists in the US. Also, this year, he was one of the head producers of Pacific Ink. There was nothing much he could ask for.

Actually, the only thing he could ask for was for a few more hours to sleep. He had always been a night person, even when he was a kid it was almost impossible for him to go to bed before midnight, but those last weeks before Pacific Ink had taken this to a whole new level. He stopped to think about it and was unconfortable to realise that he didn't sleep for more than 3 our 4 hours each night in the last three weeks. With a deep sigh he turned away for his notebook's screen and looked at the sky through the window across the room.

A soft pink was seeping from the horizon, turning the velvety darkness of the night into a watercolor like gradient. Tendo didn't need to look at the clock to know the time. The sky only turned that color around 5 am... If he went to bed now, he'd be able to sleep a few hours until 8 am, then he'd have enought time to take a shower and eat something before heading to Pacific Hall and check if everything was going on smoothly to the opening at 9 am.

That seemed resonable enough. He just needed to check his e-mail one last time to make sure everything was alright. And his facebook profile. And of course, Pacific Ink facebook page. And the official site. It would be good to check the Pac Ink list on his whatzup. And also on skype. And see if he got text messages or voice mail. Perhaps send a last e-mail to the other producers to ensure they don't need anything form him?

His mind was spiralling like water draining from a sink. If it was necessary he could make it without sleeping, couldn't he? Stay awake those last hours to make sure everything was alright, go to the opening, talk to the staff and to Pentecost and Mako. He was sure there was a staff room somewhere where he would be able to take a nap after lunch...

Suddenly everything vanished form his mind as a pair of strong arms wrapped themselves around him. He realised he was actually shaking and let his head fall onto Yancy's chest.

"You said you wouldn't be late tonight." Yancy's voice is soft and heavy with sleep.

"I'm sorry. I just don't think I'll be able to sleep tonight..." Yancy's hand caught his chin and turned his face up so they could look at each other's face.

"I know you're stressed but you need to rest." His other hand landed on top of Tendo's notebook and slowly closed the screen. His green eyes never leaving Tendo's face, searching for any sign that he was overstepping any boundary. But all Tendo did was sigh and close his eyes slowly, once again dropping his forehead against Yancy's chest.

Smiling, the blond pulled Tendo up from his chair and embraced him in a mix of strong arms and soft blankets. He guided their steps back to their bedroom where the bed was still warm from him sleeping there most of the night. As they stood at the bed's foot, Yancy took Tendo's shirt off and undid his trousers. The tight jeans didn't slip off his legs so he gently pushed Tendo onto the bed and peeled the garment away. He didn't bother to fold the clothing, just kicked them off his way with a satisfied grunt.

When he turned back, Tendo was already asleep. Yancy rose an eyebrow but smiled, seeing the lines around his husband's eyes getting fainter. He'd been working so much... But Yancy knew how important Pacific Ink was for Tendo. Not only in a professional level, but also in a personal one. It was his most cherished project, the thing he dreamed of his entire life. Yancy was happy to be by his side at that moment.

He slipped back into bed and curled against Tendo's back. The black haired man sighed and turned around, putting his arms around Yancy's middle, nuzzling his face against the curve of his neck. Yancy kissed the top of Tendo's head and put his arm loosely over his shoulder. With his free hand he picked his phone from the nightstand and set the alarm to 8 am. Tendo could forgive him for making him sleep, but he would never forgive him for being late for the opening.

Tendo was snoring softly in less than 5 minutes. Slowly Yancy felt his eyelids getting heavy again, and with a last look at the sun rising from the pink horizon, he finally closed his eyes and let Tendo's breathing lull him back to sleep.


	4. Pacific Ink

The Pacific Hall was the second most important thing on Stacker Pentecost's life. The first one being his daughter, Mako.

He was really proud of her because she was inteligente and strong willed, but affable; a rare combination in the circles Pentecost use to dwell. Most of the people he deal with are self centered businessmen and shallow celebrities. Unfortunately, owning and managing the Pacific Hall had driven most of his old friends away. Fortunately, after graduating from Business School, Mako chose to stay with him and help administrate the place.

And most of all, he trusted Mako. Her smile was radiant when he asked her to be producer of that year's edition of Pacific Ink. He knew she would do a great job, and that she and Tendo Choi would be a good team. He'd worked with Choi in other occasions, mostly producing shows at Pacific Hall. He had seen his TV show as well and was sure he was the best person to work with Mako. It was a  great pleasure to accompany their first meetings and see the chemistry between them. After that he left them to work on their own, occasionally meeting with them and the other, minor, producers and staff.

He couldn't have made a better choice. Mako created the best structure he could wish for. Everything, from the huge frontlight to the toilet papers, was chosen by her. The expositior booths, photography studios, press rooms, eating areas; she had only the best and it costed them a lot less than the previous year. On the other hand, Choi used all his contacts and charisma to get great media coverage and the best attractions and shows. He managed to bring, for the first time in the US, the street artists and performers Wei Triplets, and a big show with russian sensation Cherno Alpha. He also brought Raleigh Becket, the first winner of his reality TV show to host the main event: the Pacific Ink Contest.

The truth is that in the night prior to the opening, Stacker couldn't be more satisfied with his team and the work they did.

He arrived at Pacific Hall one hour before the opening, but there was already a small crowd waiting at the doors. He smiled at Mako, who seemed in equal parts excited and sick. She smiled back at him as they walked past the main entrance and entered the building by the staff door. As they passed by the main hall, Mako opened a check list on her tablet and began to write down notes, check and uncheck boxes and take photos of the structure as they went by.

Some of the exhibitor greeted them as they finished assembling their booths. There were merchandising from every big studio hanging everywhere, shirts, head bands, backpacks, art materials, stamps, buttons... Some of the booths had small photographic studios and they were testing lights and flashes. The air was filled with chatter and the buzzing sound of the tattoo machines being tested.

Stacker and Mako reached the staff room and found Tendo Choi there, talking to some members of the security staff and a few receptionists. Most of them had already worked at Pacific Hall, most at previous editions of Pacific Ink. They were a good group, well trained, respectful, and blessedly free of prejudices against body modification. In the first edition of Pacific Ink they had troubles with some staff being rude to guests and visitors.

They made a last-moment-meeting just to put everyone in the same page, and Stacker made quick speech thanking them and wishing good luck. As the security staff left to take their places and the receptionists went to the entrance hall to wait for the doors to open; Stacker, Mako and Tendo stayed in the room.

"Good luck to us all!" Tendo said after a moment of silence as the last members of the staff exited the room.

Mako looked at the checklist on her tablet, checked a few more itens and turned to the men by her side. "I'll go talk to Helen and make sure the receptionists got everything to welcome the visitors. After that I'll talk to some of the exhibitors see if everything is set and ready to the show."

"I'll accompany you, Miss Mori." Tendo said, offering his arm to her with a grin in his face. "I must check if the stage is already set for the bands and if the Wei Triplets materials were correctly unpacked."

"You go on then, I'll saty here a little longer. I need to check my e-mails, I'll do this before the doors open."

Mako took Tendo's arm and they left talking excitedly. They turned into good friends while working together and it made Stacker glad. Mako was a wonderful person but she didn't had many friends and Tendo was extravagant and sometimes ridiculous but somehow they managed to create a solid friendship. Stacker sat there checking his e-mails on his phone until he began to hear people outside the room. He put his phone back into his pocket and exited the room to find that there were people slowly entering the main hall. He smiled as he watched the faces of the visitors, clearly impressed and satisfied.

He stopped to talk to some acquaintances, who congratulated him on their work, and slowly made his way to the now wide open doors. There were people taking pictures, small groups talking and laughing, showing each other their arts. There was also a line forming in front of the Pac Ink Contest desk, many young artists waiting to enter the contest. They all looked excited and scared, they had tattooed arms and piercings on their lips and eyebrows, most of them dressed in combat boots and black clothes or followed the rockabilly trend Tendo Choi started a few years ago. Most of them had either tablets or notebooks, probably filled with photos of their best works, under their arms; but a few of them had actuall paper portfolios, with printed photos and drawings, sketches and unused designs. Stacker liked those better.

Mako found him there and they were quietly commenting on their first impressions of the event when they noticed a hussle in the back of the line. They got closer, Stacker motioning for one of the security staff to follow them. There they found a tall man wearing sunglasses and a red suit discussing with a younger man, wearing a white shirt with the logo of Striker Eureka Studio printed across the back.

"This is not your place, Gottlieb." The tall man was saying, a condenscending smile on his face. "You may have tricked Crocodile Dundee but we know you don't belong here."

"I never asked for your opinion, Chau." The younger one replied tersely, gripping the strap of his side bag with more force than was necessary.

"I'm not giving you my opinion! I'm stating a fact!"

"Gentlemen, what seem to be the problem here?" Stacker asked as he reached the two men. The taller one looked displeased at his arrival but the other gave a small relieved sigh. Stacker pursed his lips as he recognized the tall man as Hannibal Chau. He was once a famous artist, one of the guests at the first Pacific Ink, but now he was just a trouble maker, living of the last remnants of his fame.

"No problem at all, sir!" The taller man answered with clear irony. "I'm just talking to my friend Hermann here. Isn't it, Hermy?"

"No, Chau, that isn't it." He let go of the sidebag's strap and turned to the security staff. "Could you please remove this man from here? He's harrassing me since I stepped foot onto this line."

The man looked at Pentecost, searching for any guidance as to how to handle the situation.

"It is too early for you to be causing trouble here, Chau."

"Mr. Chau, and Hermann?" Hermann nodded in silence. "For the time being I'd like for you, Mr. Chau, to go with Dave here so that you can calm down." He pointed at the security staff who took a step forward, taking position between Chau and Hermann. "And Hermann may come with me. Let's give you both some time to cool down."

Stacker didn't wait for a response, he turned on his heels and began to walk away, one hand firmly placed on Hermann's shoulder. Mako waited for Dave to take Chau to the other side of the Hall, and then followed Stacker as he guided Hermann to one of the sitting lounges.

"I apologize for this situation." Hermann said as Stacker sat him on one of the puffs. Stacker shook his head.

"No, I apologize. Hannibal Chau has always been a nuisance here, year after year. But unless he does something clearly against the rules I can't get him out." He studied Hermann for a brief moment. "You seem to know Chau already..."

"Oh, yes. I went to his studio when I first started to work as a tattoo artist. I asked for a job but he refused to even talk to me, apparently he believe that someone like me can't be a good artist."

"Someone like you?"

"With no tattoos." He moved his arms as if to show them. Stacker rose an eyebrow, he did noticed the lack of tattoos on the young man's arms, but he had assumed he had tattoos on other parts of his body. "I know it is unusual, but if I don't have any tattoos is just because I take them too seriously..." His gaze was lost in the fake wooden floor. "Well, I thank you for your help, but I'll go back to the line if you don't mind."

Stacker greeted him and watched as he slowly made his way back to the end of the line.

"Did you know that some people say that a tattoo artist with no tattoos is like a deaf musician?" Stacker asked Mako as he finally turned around. She frowned and looked at Hermann, fiddling in his place in the line. Turning at Stacker with a small smile on her face, she said:

"Well, Beethoven was deaf."


	5. Stranger in a strange land

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I decided to put a bit more of Tendo and Yancy because I really like them. Also, Newt and Hermann finally meet.
> 
>  
> 
> Kinda.

Yancy arrived at Pacific Ink after lunch. Tendo said he would be too busy to stop and eat so Yancy should go get some food before heading to the convention. He was truly impressed, he'd never been to Pacific Hall before, let alone to Pacific Ink. Only once a few years prior he stopped by to pick Raleigh up, when he was begining his career as a tatoo artist, before the TV show. As he roamed the corridors, looking at the booths and art exhibitions, he couldn't help but to think how important that convention was in his life, and yet he had never attended to it. Raleigh met Tendo when he was at Pac Ink looking for people to participate in his show; and Yancy met Tendo because of Raleigh.

He stopped to look more closely at one photograph of the Wei Triplets exhibition when someone hugged him from behind and hauled him up.

"Rals, stop it!" He yelped, kicking his feet off just for a show. Raleigh put him back on the ground and he turned to face his brother.

"How did you know it was me?" The younger brother whined.

"Because other than Tendo, you're the only one who'd hug me like this." He answered, before adding with a smile. "And Tendo can't lift me off my feet like this."

Raleigh laughed and looked around. "Speaking of him, where is he?"

"At the staff room, I was on my way to meet him now."

"Cool. He asked me to come today to meet the Kaidonovskys and the other judges."

"The Kaidonovskys will be part of the jury?" Yancy asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes. It is hard to tell since they are always covered in tons of clothes, but they have some nice tattos. Specially Sasha."

"That would be the man?" Yancy wasn't sure about who was who in the russian duo; yet he was certain Sasha was a male name in Russia...

"No man!" Raleigh laughed and punched Yancy's arm playfully. "Oh, please don't you make this mistake in front of them, please. Sasha is the woman. Aleksis is the man."

Yancy frowned and rubbed the spot Raleigh punched quite theatrically. They were about to leave to find Tendo when someone tapped Raleigh's shoulder.

"Excuse me, are you Raleigh Becket?" The man who asked was short, had a messy hair and a ridiculously bright smile on his face. Raleigh smiled down at him and nodded. "Wow dude! I love your work! I watched Ink'd every day, and I was rooting for you since day one."

"Thank you, man." Raleigh's smile grew bigger at the man's enthusiasm. "I really appreciate it, coming from another artist."

"No! No dude, I'm not an artist." He shook his head and offered his hand for Raleigh to shake. "I'm Newt, part-time biology researcher and phD student."

Raleigh shook Newt's hand with a disbelieving smile. "Really? That's surprising at least. I must say you have a really good work on you."

Newt giggled a bit, almost like a teenager meeting a Hollywood celebrity. He stretched his arms and did little rotating movements to show more of his tattoos. "Yes, thank you. They took me almost four years to be done, and twice through the process my artist moved away so I had to find another one. Guh... it was a pain in the ass..."

"I know right? When I was getting my calf done I had an epic fight with the guy who was working on it and I had to find someone else to finish the job."

Yancy politely cleared his throat and both Raleigh and Newt turned to him as if he had sprung out of nowhere. He shot a pointed look at his brother, who in turn looked back at Newt with a yellow smile.

"Look Newt, it was really nice to meet you, but I must go. Let's talk again if we meet another time, ok?"

"Yeah, yeah, sure! Ah, it was really... inconvenient of me. Sorry."

Raleigh shook his hand again and smiled at him. "Don't worry, it's not a big deal. See you around."

Yancy nodded at Newt and turned around with Raleigh, heading towards the staff room. In their way many people looked and pointed at them but no one else came to talk to them, and Yancy was grateful for that. Even after three years, he was still getting used to this being-close-to-someone-famous thing; first with Raleigh and now with Tendo. Usually he didn't cared so much but sometimes it was unnerving to be the unimportant attachment.

When they got to the staff room, Yancy knocked before cracking it open to take a look inside. He spotted Tendo talking to Mako, with his back to the door. He waved at them and she smiled at him and beckoned. Tendo turned and smiled too as the Beckets crossed the room. Yancy kissed Tendo softly on the lips before moving to hug Mako, Raleigh merely blushed and waved a bit at her.

"I thought you weren't coming." Tendo pouted, entwining his fingers with Yancy's.

"Sorry, I got lost and then Rals was practically tackled down by a fan."

"That's not true, the guy was really polite." Raleigh frowned. "Anyway, where are the others?" He looked around but there was no one else in the room.

"Actually we'll be meeting them upstairs." Mako replied. "This room is open to all staff member, so we thought it would be more safe and confortable to use one of the meeting rooms in the second floor."

"Talking about meeting, we should be going now." Tendo said, looking at his wrist watch. Mako guided them through a side door that lead to a large stair where a girl was sitting and frenetically typing on her phone. They passed by a few doors and finally she opened one and let them in. The room was spacious, there was a round table at the center and chairs around it, a small couch, a whiteboard and a big window from where you could see the entry hall and part of the convention.

Stacker was sitting in one of the chairs, talking to Sasha while Aleksis was absentmindedly playing Candy Crush on his phone and playing with the rings on his wife's fingers. There were other two people in the room, but Yancy didn't recognized them. As Mako made her way to Staker's side, everyone took places around the table. Tendo pulled Yancy to sit by his side, their hands still joined.

A few moments into their discussions, and Yancy was completely lost. He tried to get into this whole tattoo world - twice actually, first for Raleigh and then for Tendo; but it just wasn't his place. He did appreciate the art, and had three tattoos himself, two made by his brother and one by his husband. But he couldn't bring himself to fully understand it, the terms, tha names, the brands, it was all too much for him. So he just sat there, feeling Tendo's thumb rubbing circles across his hand, and looking at the entry hall of the convention center through the window.

He spotted Raleigh's fan, Newt, in the crowd and kept watching him for a while. There was a man flipping through a big notebook - probably a portfolio Yancy reasoned, and Newt was shamelessly looking at it over the man's shoulder. Which was actually a funny scene since the man was much taller than Newt. After a while Yancy saw the man sighing and slowly turning to face Newt who gave that ridiculously bright smile. Reluctantly, the man handed the portfolio over to him.

At each page turned, Newt's smile managed to get brighter and brighter.


	6. Popular belief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And finally we come to their first meeting! Cute german nerds and rude interruptions ahead!
> 
> It took me a while to work this chapter out, but I'm rather satisfied with how it turned out :D

Contrary to popular belief, Hermann Gottlieb was not a difficult person. Actually, it was quite simple to please him. He enjoyed talking about bod-mod and arts; he liked to listen to music in unhealthily loud volumes and he liked to cook even if there was no one but him to eat. He also could go hours and hours talking about history and science and all sci-fi series, movies and books he loved.

Peeking over his shoulder, however, was one of the most efficient ways to make him mad. Even more if the person doing so was so small he had to stand on his tip toes to properly look at Hermann's portfolio as he flipped through it.

He pursed his lips, trying to relax, but everytime he turned a page the man behind him would do some noise, of surprise or appreciation, and that was getting to Hermann's nerves. At last he closed the book and turned to the man, who wasn't quick enough to turn around and at least pretend he wasn't rudely invading Hermann's space. Actually he didn't even try to look like he wasn't shamelessly peeking over his shoulder. He smiled at him, a full smile that crinkled the corner of his eyes, and offered his hand for Hermann to shake.

"Hi, man! My name's Newt." Hermann rose an eyebrow and reluctantly shook his hand.

"Hermann Gottlieb."

"So, Herm, is this portfolio yours?" His eyes were quickly scanning Hermann's arms and hands, clearly looking for tattoos. Surprisingly, when he found none he didn't look disappointed or disdainful.

"Yes." Hermann's hand tightened around the spine of the book, debating over handing it to Newt or not. After a brief inner discussion, he offered the portfolio with a sour expression on his face. "Care to take a better look at it?"

Again, the man responded with a bright smile and snatched the book form Hermann's hand. He opened it carefully though, and took a long time examining each photo and draw. Curiously, Hermann didn't feel judged or belittled by him. He had heavily tattooed arms, which was really common in his line of work, but there was a childish quality to his reactions that made Hermann feel calm, actually appreciated for once.

"Wow, your work is really good, Herm!" Newt looked up, portfolio now closed in his hands, but somehow it seemed like he didn't want to give it back yet. "Where do you work?"

"At Striker Eureka Studio. And call me Hermann, please."

"Oh, sorry, _Hermann_." He stressed the name in a playfull way. "Striker Eureka, hun? Where did I heard this name before?"

"One of our artists participated on the second season of Ink'd." Hermann said. Chuck's participation on the show was short lived but many people went to the studio after this and for a while it was like being _big_ , but unfortunately the fame was also short lived.

"Yes! Right! The australian guy, isn't it?" Hermann noded. "But you're not astralian, are you? Your accent is nothing like Australia, you sound like a brit or something."

"I've studied in England for many years, yes, but actually I'm german."

"No way! I'm from Berlin." Newt actually giggled a bit, fingers drumming in the portfolio's hard cover.

"Unfortunately I've never been to Berlin." Hermann said, now feeling even more confortable. He heard about this unspoken brotherhood between people of the same nacionality in foreign countries, but just now he was experiencing it. "I'm from Garmisch-Partenkirchen."

They began to talk about Germany and how they ended up in the US. Newton asked what he did in England, and what he remebered from their homeland. Hermann was enjoying the chat, occasionally slipping german words when english failed him; and was really happy to see that Newton not only understood but also did the same thing. He was surprised to learn that Newton wasn't a tattoo artist, but an academic. Yet, he figured he wasn't in place to judge people's looks and careers.

When Newton began to talk about his tattoos, their meaning, all the species and periods portrayed in his arms; Hermann couldn't help but to smile. It was easy to see the passion and dedication on the biologist's screechy voice. Before he knew it, Hermann was touching his arm, gently turning it to look at the seamless flow of color in his skin. His cold fingers running over the man's warm skin, pointing at a few creatures and asking what they were, or making remarks about the techniques used to etch the history of life in his arms.

Neither of them could tell how long they stood there, chatting and laughing; well, at least Newt did laugh quite a few times. Hermann was getting hungry and was about to ask if Newton would go with him to the food court have a belated lunch when a deep voice rang over their conversation.

"Hey kid, I didn't know you'd be here!"

Hannibal Chau was coming in their direction, pace slow and measured, like a predator stalking unsuspecting victims. Except that Hermann was no unsuspecting victim and the arrogance in Chau's action made him grit his teeth.

"Hannibal!" Much to Hermann's surprise, Newt waved energetically at the newcomer. "It's been years, man! What are you doing here?"

"I'm attending to the con, kid, what else should I be doing now?" Hannibal smiled at Newt before turning to glare at Hermann. "And you, Hermy, still fooling around here?"

"Oh, you two know each other?" Newt seemed pleased with this. "You know that guy who made the first few layers of my right sleeve, and then moved away? This is the guy!" He happily pointed at Chau, who smiled in a manner that made Hermann's spine go cold.

"I see you finished those sleeves, hun? I thought you'd never find someone to replace me, kid." Chau grabbed Newt's arm in a rude way, nothing like Hermann's gentle touches. Newt actually frowned a bit but soon he was once again talking and showing all the details of the piece of art he carried around.

Hermann stood there, completely unconfortable. Every once in a while Chau would send an arrogant glare at him, almost daring him to say something. But the german artist just remained silent for a few moments before turning and leaving with no further words. His stomach growled as Newt's cheery voice died in the distance, muffled by the other sounds around him.

He bought a chicken sandwich and sat alone in a distant corner of the food court. 'Damn you, Chau!' He thought as he viciously bit the sandwich.

Contrary to popular belief, Hermann Gottlieb was a man who enjoyed being happy. It was difficult to tell, since he spent most of his time frowning or being too dry and cold to human interaction. But it was true nonetheless. And if he was eating his sandwich like it had personally ofended him, it was just because he'd rather be starving in a good company than being there eating alone.


	7. Like father, like son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aussie aussie aussie! Oi oi oi!  
> Hansens ahead!
> 
> This chapter only exists because the lovely pickleplum nudged me out of a stupid dead end I put myself into D:

Hermann ate alone, regretting the silence around himself. He mentally replayed his conversation with Newton, the guy seemed so nice, and genuinely interested in his portfolio. _His portfolio!_ He put the sandwich aside and quickly shuffled the contents of his bag only to find out that the book was indeed missing. Closing his eyes he could practically _see_ Newton fiddling with it, his hands nervously drumming on the hard cover as they talked.

He needed to retrieve his portfolio soon. Newton would probably take good care of it, wouldn't he? But Chau was with him and he'd probably enjoy the opportunity to mess with Hermann's work if only to piss him off. Would Newton allow Chau to do so? Were they _friends_ after all? Or was that just an artist-client reunion and nothing else? A small part of him wished that it was only this, a client and his former artist catching up with the design of his massive tattoo.

Hermann finished eating debating whether to go after him or not. He needed his portfolio for sure, but maybe he could just print another one... But there were many original works there that he didn't have any photos or reproductions. And also, it wasn't a cheap thing to do, he searched for the best printer and used high quality paper. He couldn't afford to print a new one out of spite!

Decided to go after Newton and get his portfolio back, Hermann stood up energetically, slinging his bag over one shoulder and moving at a fast pace through the corridors. His eyes were scanning the place looking for Newton, since he probably had left the place they've been before. In a _normal_ place, it would be fairly easy to find him, Hermann thought, with his colorful full sleeves and stylish clothes, but at Pac Ink? You could kick a rock and at least three guys like this would come crawling form underneath it. But he was sure he could find him even among one thousand tattooed guys with spiked hair and screechy voices. For purely professional reasons, of course.

He was almost reaching the spot he and Newt have been chatting not long ago when he saw a small commotion. He could see a few guests, and a member of the staff he recognized as the security man who got Chau out of his way earlier. In the middle of the small group was a young man, and if the thick accent ringing through the air is any indication, Hermann knows who is at the eye of the storm.

Surely, standing there, talking to the security man, was Chuck Hansen. Hermann got closer, intending on greeting his kind-of-boss and going on with his search for Newt, but the exalted tone of their voices made him stop. Chuck and some guests were discussing with the staff, and the man seemed adamant to keep whatever resolution he had.

"He is really well behaved! He won't leave my arms..." Chuck moaned in his best good-boy voice. It wasn't a very good good boy voice... The man shook his head and replied:

"I'm sorry, but rules are rules and I can't allow you to bring your _dog_ into the Pacific Hall." Now Hermann could see what the fuss was about. Max was sitting in his usual place at Chuck's side, the young man holding the leash loosely while talking. Hermann considered simply leaving and texting Chuck later to see if he managed to bring Max with him, but just as he turned around to leave a yell from Chuck caught his attention barely a second before something else caught him on the knees.

He lost his balance and fell forward, barely managing to defend his face from the quickly approaching floor. Max was barking and bouncing around his legs, giving him little head bumps and turning to Chuck as if showing his owner what he had found. "Yeah, it is me, Max. How are you doing, you ball of fat?" Hermann turned and sat properly, taking Max in his arms before he decided to keep running around and pushing people off their feet.

"Hermann!" Chuck called as he crossed the small distance with all the guests and the security staff yelling after him. He offered his hand to help Hermann back on his feet, the artist took it and was easily hauled back to a standing position. Max barked excitedly and squirmed in the crook of Hermann's other arm. Chuck took him in his own arms and frowned at him, scolding the dog with a high pitched falsetto.

"Sir! That's it, this is completely out of the rules. I must insist you take this dog somewhere else." The security man pointed at Hermann, who was dusting dirt off his pants as Chuck talked to Max in his dog-voice.

"Oh, no. Don't worry about it." Hermann said, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. "I know them, Max does this everytime he sees me."

"That's beyond the point, sir. This is a private location and since this is not a guide dog, I can't be forced to allow him in this place." The man seemed not only resolute but also more than a bit annoyed by all the fuss. "I'll be forced to _show_  you the way out if you don't comply now."

The guests around them moaned and started to talk all at once. From what Hermann could understand, they were Chuck's fans and wanted to hang out with him and his _adorable_ dog, but couldn't quite understand that that was against Pacific Hall rules. Some girls even offered to take Max on a walk so Chuck could go into the convention, but the australian declined their offer. "It's alright, I'll come back tomorrow. With no dog." He added agressively to the staff who didn't seem impressed in the least. The man not so subtly stood behind them, looking angry as they left the building with the small swarm of fans around.

"Why did you even brought him, Chuck?" Hermann asked in a tired voice as they stood in front of Pacific Hall under the bright mid afternoon sun.

"The old man wanted to clean the studio and asked me to take him for a walk..." The girls who offered to walk Max were still there, looking at Chuck with dreamy eyes. He smiled at them and they giggled a bit. After a little shuffling on their side they offered him a notebook and a pen and asked for an autograph. "Yes, of course! You were so kind to us, weren't they Max? What's your name?"

"I'm Dana, and she's Tina." One of the girls said, looking so excited that her companion had to hold her down by the arm as Chuck signed the notebook. He even drew a cartoonish bulldog at the bottom of the page and that made the girls squee with joy. They thanked him and left, excitedly looking at the autograph.

"So, sorry for draging you into this." Chuck said after a moment of silence. He put Max back on the ground and held his leash more securely. "I'll go back to Striker, the cleaning must be over by now." Hermann looked at the people wandering in the entrance hall, all absorbed in their own groups, talking and joking, sharing this experience. He shook his head slowly.

"I'll go with you." Chuck fixed him a puzzled look. Hermann sighed and said tiredly: "Hannibal Chau is here, he's been pissing me off since morning..."

Chuck didn't ask any more. His father had told him how much of a jerk Chau could be, and he knew the story of how Hermann went to ask him for a position on his studio short before Herc hired him. Looking back now, Hermann was lucky: if Chau had accepted him by that time, he'd probably be involved in the money washing scheme Chau was investigated for few months later.

They walked a few blocks until they reached the spot Chuck had parked Herc's car in. Max sat happily in Hermann's lap as they drove in silence, the bulldog's face being disformed by the wind coming form the opened window. They pulled over in front of the small studio. It was an old house Hercules rented long ago, they had painted it a metallic shade of green, windows and doors painted so that they looked a submarine's hatch. A big, black logo was graffited right in the middle of the front: a bulldog chewing on a nuclear nuke with the words Striker Eureka circling it.

Just like Chuck had foreseen, Herc was done with cleaning. The entire place smelled of pine and there was not even a fleck of dust over the furniture. The owner was  leisurely sprawled in the entry room couch, watching the small TV and sipping a beer. "Hey boys!" He greeted, straightening on the couch and giving space for Hermann to sit by his side. "I wasn't expecting you here so soon, Chuck. And I wasn't expecting you here at all..." He added, rising an eyebrow at Hermann's disgruntled expression.

"Hannibal Chau was there!" Chuck yelled from the back room where he was feeding Max. Herc instantly put on a serious expression: "What did he do, Hermann?"

The younger man sighed. He adored the Hansens, but they could become quite overprotective sometimes. He could understand, both father and son were big, brave aussies like they liked to put, it was difficult to visualize any of them ever needing to be protected. Hermann on the other hand, was a skinny man with a british accent that didn't make him seem any tougher.

"Just the usual," he replied trying to placate Herc's growing worry. "Picked on me, said I didn't belong in Pac Ink... He tried to _physically_ remove me from the line to sign in to the contest, but some members of the staff saw it and took him away." He tried to make his voice light so that neither Herc nor Chuck would take any extreme measure. The older man pursed his lips thoughtfully but ended up just taking another swig of his beer.

"You sure this is all?" He looked intently at Hermann's face, but the young artist did a good job at hiding the whole Newt-and-portfolio affair. "You came back early and I though you wouldn't even come at all..."

"I met Chuck there and we went through a canine problem with the security staff..."

Hercules' face ran a series of expressions, from annoyed to delighted, in less than one second. He setled for a slightly tired one. "Chuck, did you really tried to bring Max inside the Pacific Hall?"

"Yes I did!" The younger Hansen said as he came back into the entry room, two beers in hand and a happy dog at his heels. He gave Hermann one cold bottle and opened the other in the crook of his arm, taking a deep gulp of the liquid. Hermann stared at the closed bottle in his hands for a second or so before Herc took it and opened it for him in the same fashion his son did. Hermann thanked silently and sipped on it thoughtfully.

He began to realise that leaving the convention without retrieving his portfolio was probably a bad idea. He didn't know if Newton would be there in the other days, what if today was the only chance to find him? If that was the case, there should be a way to find him again... He couldn't even use some social network because all he knew about him was his stupid nickname, and that he studied biology and was german and had adorable freckles across his nose.

The Hansens were chatting in the background as he tried to find any piece of information about Newt he might have learned from their earlier interaction. He said he wasn't from San Francisco, but he couldn't remember where was he from. Was he in a hotel or with some friend or relative? Maybe Hermann could call the hotels near Pacific Hall and ask... No, it would be too much trouble and probably wouldn't work, hotels in Pacific Hall area were expensive and Newt was a part time researcher and phD student, he probably couldn't afford a room in one of those 4 stars hotels. He growled in frustration and the sound made the Hansens look down at him with questioning looks.

"Do they have a lost and found section at Pacific Ink?" He asked all of a sudden.

"Yes, usually all conventions have." Herc answered still frowning. "Why?"

"I might have lost something..." Hermannn said almost to himself. He fell silent and soon Chuck started to talk again dragging Herc's attention back to him.

'I might have lost a great opportunity...' Hermann thought to himself before finishing his beer with a bitter expression.


End file.
